An evanescent experience you'll want to return for
We've all heard the old wive's tale about lightening not striking the same place twice, but very few of us might have speculated why. Thunder storms, by nature, are in constant motion. If you consider that a cloud crackling with an electric current has moved 6km+ from where it was when a bolt of lightening escaped and struck the ground, the myth begins to sound more plausible. While science has proven that it is absolutely possible for lightening to recur a past point of impact, it is rare. Chefs Neil Swart and Anouchka Horn's crowd-funded concept is proof that, even in a city as culinarily competitive as Cape Town, a spark of success once felt, can be enjoyed again.
The two friends whet their appetites for running a restaurant with Arugula Bistro and Bread. Neil and Anouchka's Welgemoed rendezvous stills hold an impressive reputation, though they've sold it. In search of creating an intimate dining experience, the seasoned chefs have curated a menu that champions locally and ethically sourced seasonal ingredients. It has also adopted the nose-to-tail philosophy.
Belly of the Beast separates itself from the herd of eateries found on Harrington street in both standard and situation. While others have congested a block at the bottom of the busy district, this gothic industrial dining room rests a comfortable distance from the commotion.
We begin with the bread course. Though the 20-seater interior has been fully booked for lunch, my date and I have come in a little earlier than the rest of the diners so we have the space to ourselves.
Neil arrives with a Acacia wood serving board of Kabous. The year-old mother dough, which is ordinarily the leavening base of sourdough bread, has been baked and covered in a generous coating of burnt onion dust. A duck liver pâté , sweet and sour apricot compote, and garnished with fresh dill accompanies the bread. The plating is chic, artistic, and displays a level of refined creativity. I'm just really eager to rip into the aged bread.
I've picked up a few occupational habits since becoming a full-time food writer. One is testing the individual elements on a plate before incorporating everything into a mouthful. So I begin by thumbing the bread to gauge its freshness. My indentation bounces back at me. Wetting my index finger, I run it along the crust and bring it to my lips. The smokiness of the burnt onion is quite aromatic, even as I place it on my tongue.
Driving my knife into Neil and Anoushka's duck pâté, the top layer yields, revealing a perfectly smooth paste underneath - which is reassuring for a textural fuddy-duddy like me. The apricot compote that decorates the top of the pâté is tangy and balances out the creamy richness of the duck.
This course is a carnival of sweet and savoury, smoky, salty, soft and crunchy.
Next, is blackened fresh tuna, Korean barbecue mayonnaise, marinated cucumber, avocado, sticky rice and spring onion.
Coriander is a contentious herb, either you love it or hate it. Neil and Anoushka dared to serve it anyway. The gamble pays off because the poke bowl is fresh and light. The spring onion, cilantro and cucumber salad gives the savoury dish a welcomed sweetness that works well with the barbecue mayonnaise, toasted sesame seeds and salty rice. I enjoy the fish. It melts in my mouth. It is so succulent, I am sad to see the dish come to an end.
We are served Saldanha mussels after our clean bowls have been cleared. "You'll have to eat them like oysters," Stanley says as he places the plates on our table. Accustomed to using cutlery, my dining companion and I confront the dish with some apprehension, but we eventually plunge the mollusc into our mouths.
Coriander, shallots and cubed tomatoes makeup the refreshing micro salad that rests atop the mussels. The acidity of the garnish, paired with the muted saltiness of the seafood and oyster emulsion has acted like a kind of palate cleanser. An amuse bouche or sorts; the bite-sized portion has my interest piqued for the entrée.
Prepared for us is three-hour braised lamb rib, served on a base of feta cream. A salsa of pickled sultanas, marinated chickpeas, cucumber, red pepper, exotic tomatoes and curry oil dresses the dish, as well as a charred artichoke and lamb jus.
This is art on a plate.
The dish smells like comfort. There is an undeniable game-iness permeating from the plate supported by the salt coming from the feta sauce. A recently converted lamb lover (let's just say Tanzanians know how to get their bovidae incredibly tender), I cut through my meat with ease.
Neil and Anoushka know texture. The artichoke has a pleasing amount of give, despite its exposure to the griddle. The crunch of the salsa, which squelches with sweet sultanas at places, is delicately balanced. The smooth sauce and succulent lamb come together in harmony.
In terms of flavour, feta is quite a salty cheese. Thicken it down to a sauce, and the concentration is amplified. It certainly was a bold decision to include the authoritative sauce in a dish with well seasoned lamb.
The four-course meal is beginning to take effect. My chaperone and I have curled into our chairs, longing for a post-meal nap. Our dessert courses arrive together as my dashing date has to dart back to work after our lazy lunch. Though I've graciously offered to take care of both our puddings, and share my experience through a follow-up text message, my benevolence is rebuffed.
For our final course, Anoushka brings us a scoop of soy caramel ice cream, served upon almond Oreo crumble and toasted hazelnuts, with Maldon salt. "We've also made this snack for you which is cinnamon crisps & cream cheese foam. I hope you enjoy it," the seasoned chef says.
"I'm convinced this flavour is the result of some chef burning their caramel and trying to pass it off as an intentional decision," I mumble between gobbles of ice cream. Cooking puzzlements like this and casu marzu (rotten cheese), for example, are relatively new. While I'm certainly not reaching for maggot-infested dairy cultures, I can not get enough of the salted caramel.
Had the caramel, almonds, Oreos and hazelnuts been served by themselves, the dish might have been too sweet. The brazen granules of sea salt reign the sugar in just enough to appreciate all the flavours. Again, Neil and Anoushka pay attention to every vital texture on the spectrum.
With very little space left in me, I reach for a cinnamon crisp. The fragile disk cracks effortlessly. Because it's so light, I don't think it'll manage holding any foam. I try anyway and it does. As I bring it to rest on my tongue, it begins to evaporate. First, the crisp gives way, the spicy cinnamon the only thing to linger. As I close my mouth, the cream cheese foam collapses too and it feels like I've just eaten a sweet cloud.
The mark of a good meal is one that leaves your stomach full but your spirit wanton. Belly of The Beast served an accomplished meal. There was an intentional tempo to the experience - it told a story. Pulling back with certain components, while unapologetically going for gold in others, we enjoyed a kind of culinary cadence. By the very nature of the ever evolving tasting menu at The Beast, our experience can never be recreated - which is part of the magic.
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We've taken a decent break from the Zanzibar content, but we're going to get straight back into it next week with a Traveller's Guide to Living Like a Local, as well as a few other reviews I promised to share with you.
After that we'll get straight back into some my experience of South Africa's FIRST cannabis sushi at Blowfish Restaurant, then we'll pop into Silo Hotel for their High Tea and Seasonal Dessert Menu plus Chef Devin entrusted me with his Pineapple Ice Cream Recipe that I'm excited to share with you.
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